


The Hills

by SummerDaze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerDaze/pseuds/SummerDaze
Summary: SanSan Modern AU.Sansa Stark lives on the Hills housing estate. One day she comes home from a bad day at work and her rude neighbour pushes her over the edge. She goes straight over to his house to tell him exactly what she thinks of his ridiculous 4x4 and bad parking. Instead of yelling at him like she intended she come away with an offer she can't stop thinking about. What happens if Sansa says yes? And what other neighbours will we meet?OOC to allow for the modern day setting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first modern AU. Let me know what you think and if I should continue.
> 
> Inspired by events on my own street (bonus points if you live there too!)
> 
> All characters belong to GRRM. I'm just playing with them until WoW is released.

Sansa Stark was a patient girl. In fact she was so well mannered that some might argue she was annoyingly courteous and polite.

  
Tonight however was a different story. In her defence she'd had a truly horrific day at work with her boss Cersei piling on task after task with everything needing to be completed _yesterday_ , never mind the fact she had only been given it to start approximately 3 minutes ago.

Every month Cersei done this. Sansa diaried the regular reports that needed completing, ensuring the deadlines were in Cersei's diary a few days before the actual deadline was, and even setting aside time to complete the reports and statistics at the start of the week, but still, each month-end Cersei left it to the very, very last minute. Sansa was never sure if Cersei just didn't care, didn't realise the pressure she caused everyone else, or just wasn't very good at her job. Whatever it was, it had resulted in Sansa staying on until 7.30pm when the building security guard had come up to her floor, telling her that it was 7.30pm on a Friday night - something that Sansa was, in fact, painfully aware of - and that even if she had nothing better to do than work, _he_ did and she was making him late. So she had turned off her laptop, packed up her bag and allowed herself to start thinking about the cold bottle of white wine that was chilling at home in the fridge.

  
The home that she was currently unable to park her car in front of because that awful man had left his bin out in the middle of the road _again_.

  
So, she could have blamed it on her crappy boss, she could have blamed it on the annoying security guard, she could even pin the blame on her increasingly distant boyfriend Joff, but the fact of the matter was, she snapped.

  
It was not a feeling Sansa was used to. She felt her blood boil in her veins. Adrenalin coursed through her body making her tremble as she slammed on the brakes, flung the door open in rage, abandoned her car with the engine still on and the driver's door still open and marched up to his front door. Her fists banged much harder than necessary on the black paint lacquered door.

  
Sansa lived in a nice neighbourhood. On her side of the road were newly built houses, all identical little starter homes with tiny front gardens - just enough room for a doorstep to put a pumpkin out on at Halloween - filled with families and young couples. In fact her house on the end of the road that she shared with her friend Mya was the only property not to be filled with a couple of some description. The houses on her side of the road were a community and they helped each other out, watching out for the kids, lending sugar or milk and fixing things that had broken, they even the occasional summer BBQ or street party at Christmas.

  
On the other side of the road however, were the Big Houses. 5 and 6 bedroom, three story detached properties with neat lawned front gardens housing a drive big enough to park on, all enclosed in a white picket fence.

  
_He_ , of course, often chose to park his ridiculously large 4x4 on the road, being the obnoxious small town footballer he was, rather than park on his drive, which housed his convertible. Often this meant Sansa had to park way down the road, wherever she could find a space and walk back. It felt like he knew that Thursday nights were her food shopping night, and he seemed to always park out on the road on Thursdays so she had to carry her heavy bags of shopping up and down the road from the car to her home, more often than not carrying more that she could really manage to avoid multiple trips and ending up dropping at least one bag, usually the one with the eggs in.

  
So while she stood on his doorstep, banging on his shiny front door, looking at his stupid, unnecessary 4x4 on the road and his wheelie bin overflowing with rubbish in the road outside her house and his litter, having fallen from his wheelie bin and been blown up and down the road in the light autumn breeze, she was fully ready to launch into a completely unprepared, entirely rambled, somewhat crazed rant. The moment the door opened her mouth opened too, lips parting ready to let him experience the full force of her anger. She was not expecting him to get in first.

  
"You're late." His voice was rough and gravelly, the sort of voice that could make some women go weak at the knees but all Sansa heard was the rude, accusatory tone.

  
Her neck stretched to look at his face as she gaped at him - he was so tall she had to tip her head almost all the way back. His long, almost black hair hung limply around his face, looking like it had just been washed. His grey eyes, narrowed at her as he stared right at her, showed so much contempt that she completely missed the three big scars criss crossing over the left side of his face.

  
Sansa didn't even have the time to spit out the indignant "Excuse me?" That was trapped in her throat before he reached out a giant hand, took ahold of her shoulder and pulled her into the hall way. He reached over her head to close the front door behind her and turned around, stomping off down the hallway without so much as a glance back to her. Sansa looked around, but finding no clues on the plain white walls of the hallway, she scurried after him, following him until the room opened up into a large, light space with a glass ceiling, wooden floor and white painted walls, housing a white gloss table in the centre of the room, overflowing with paper. In one corner of the room was another white gloss table, smaller and obviously a desk, with a single chair and a computer set up. At the opposite end of the room the white gloss theme continued with what looked like a kitchen area. A black marble counter covered the length of the wall, underneath it white gloss cupboards and drawers. Sitting on top of the counter was a microwave, kettle, toaster and coffee machine, all in a matching black gloss.

  
Sansa was immediately jealous of the room. It was white and airy, and had the feel of a sun drenched loft. She thought it would be a great creative studio and was the type of space she imagined design companies coveted.

  
The giant man with wet hair had pulled out a chair and was sat at the table in the centre of the room, digging through the piles of paperwork. He looked funny in this white room, his white t-shirt blending into the background and causing his long dark hair and dark beard to look even darker in contrast. Unsure of what to do, all adrenalin now well and truly out of her system and replaced with confusion, Sansa stood awkwardly until he looked up, grunted and flicked his hand towards a chair opposite him, a gesture Sansa decided meant 'take a seat.'

  
So she did. Eventually he looked up from one of the papers, obviously having found what he was searching for. "You're Margaery Tyrell."

  
"No, I'm Sansa Stark."

  
He flicked the piece of paper in her direction. "Says here you're Margaery Tyrell."

  
Sansa's voice was perhaps a slice sharper than it could have been, "I'm not. I'm Sansa Stark."

  
Sansa's forehead creased as she frowned in confusion. What did he have there? A list of the neighbours names? She'd never heard of this Margaery person. She must be from the Big Houses.

  
He sighed, as if she was the biggest inconvenience in the world. "Alright then Sansa Stark. I'm Sandor Clegane."

  
"Yes, I know who you are. That's why I'm here."

  
He gave her a look then. Like she annoyed, confused and amused him all at once. She supposed she must have given him a similar look back because she was very annoyed and very confused. She only wanted to shout and him and make him realise how selfish he was with his stupid wheelie bin and now she was sat here having an awkward conversation in his house.

  
He let out a small laugh but it didn't sound amused. "Alright then, I don't know how much you were told but you know who I am and what I do. It's pretty simple really, you'll do as I ask. I travel a lot, and I pay pretty well. There are some other benefits sometimes, tickets, travel. But don't ever be late again."

  
Confusion clouded Sansa's features before she finally realised what was going on. He must be interviewing for a job. She looked up at his face with a smile on her own. "There's been a mix up. I don't-"

  
He rudely cut her off. "I see. Just wanted to see inside a footballer's house did you? Or was it the face? Plenty of people want to see that up close."

  
He turned his scars to her then, and she noticed them properly for the first time. They looked sore. Too red and too smooth to be skin, stretching from above his eyebrow all the way down the left side of his cheek to his jawline. He had grown his beard over the lower half of his face which covered a lot of them, but this close she could make out the bumps and redness beneath the hair. She studied his face; strong nose. She could tell it had been broken more than once, its slight crookedness adding to the dis-symmetry of his face. His grey eyes glittered, seemingly pleased he had something he could get angry about. They were framed with long, thick black lashes that she thought entirely wasted on him and heavy brows. His face was tan, with small lines around his eyes, making her wonder if he was a smoker. Overall his face had quite a harshness to it, and the look in his eyes as he pushed his hair back and stood, leaning himself over the table and looming above her made her slightly concerned she had just walked into a stranger's house, despite being only over the road from her own.

  
"No that's not it. I...I..."

  
Would shouting at him now be a bad idea? He seemed scary. No one knew she was here, and really she could move the bin herself. She suddenly desperately wanted to be at home.

  
"So you'll be here Monday. 7.30. AM."

  
Sansa just wanted to get out of his house. She plastered a smile on her face and shove her hand out to shake his.

  
"That's perfect Mr Clegane. I'll see you then."

  
With a bemused look he took her hand and shook it. She had braced herself for her hand to be crushed but she was surprised at how gentle his grip was. None the less, as soon as he let go she turned on her heel and hurried out with no intention of ever returning.

  
"Don't be late!" The deep, rough voice bellowed behind her as she all but ran out of his front door and down the driveway back to her car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler here I'm afraid, some background and context. Next chapter will be up soon!

It had ended up being a quiet weekend. Friday, after hefting that bloody wheelie bin around to make space for her car, Sansa had gleefully stripped out of her work clothes, put on her favourite pair of pyjamas and finally spouted herself a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc. Rooted to the sofa, ordering takeout and binging on Netflix had been just what she needed. Sansa had even been secretly pleased that Mya was out for the night, for as much as she loved her housemate, Mya could be very tiresome sometimes and Sansa just wanted to zone out and eat her tacos in peace.

 

Saturday morning Sansa woke up to find the house still empty, and smirked as she realised that probably meant Mya had  _finally_ spent the night with Lothor. She checked her phone to see if she had a message with all the salacious details but she only had a message from Joffrey cancelling their weekend plans. Apparently going down to the south coast on a Catamaran for the weekend was a much better option than spending time with her.

 

Filling up the coffee maker, Sansa sent a quick text off to Mya, just to make sure she was okay. By the time the machine had boiled the water and the coffee was dripping into her mug, Sansa had recieved confirmation that Mya had finally wormed her way into Lothor's bed, he was very talented with his tongue and not to expect her home until late Sunday night. Sansa replied with just the tongue emoji and took her coffee through to the lounge. 

 

The idea of the empty weekend stretching ahead was very appealing. Work really had been getting more and more difficult lately with Cersei seemingly growing more incompetent every day. Everyone thought being a PA was easy, but when you were Cersei Lannister's PA...well, it was not easy. The woman done her own thing with no regard for her meticulously organised schedule or even the tasks that had to be done. How she had not been fired yet Sansa couldn't understand, but she was sure sleeping with the CEO had something to do with it. 

 

And then there was Joffrey. It was painfully obvious to Sansa that the relationship was not going anywhere. The small amount of time they did spend together he bored her senseless. He often came across as an entitled little shit too, just because his family had money he thought he could be rude to shop workers and waitresses when they went out. It embarrassed Sansa and was an attitude she couldn't wrap her head around. She guessed it was true what they said about Bankers. 

 

Enjoying the hot, deliciously bitter coffee Sansa resolved to end things with Joffrey once he came back from his weekend away. She wasn't one to dump someone over the phone but it struck her that he most definitely was. So that was one problem solved, now she just had to figure out the work thing. 

 

Sunday evening was spent luxuriating in a steaming hot bath with candles and a face mask. Her weekend had been the epitome of tranquility and laziness. She felt a bit guilty that she hadn't actually left the house since Friday but reasoned with herself that she very definitely needed the break from real life. 

 

And anyway, the tranquility was well and truly shattered as Sansa heard the front door slap and footsteps running up the stairs. She heard her bedroom door open  and close before the bathroom door was flung open and Mya rushed in, giving Sansa an odd look before sitting on the toilet seat and launching into an explicitly detailed review of her weekend with Lothor. Finally asking what Sansa and Joff had gotten up to at the weekend, Mya was appalled to find out Sansa had not left the house all weekend and resolved to throw a party once Sansa finally got rid of the little banker. 

 

Once in bed, Sansa tossed and turned for what felt like hours. She knew what was on her mind but she didn't want to think about it, she had successfully avoided it all weekend but now with nothing to distract her, her _traitorous_ brain just wouldn't let the thought go. It was definitely not an option. He hadn't even said how much he would pay. As if she would work for him anyway. He was a _footballer_. If she thought Joff was pretentious with his banker's salary she couldn't even imagine how awful a footballer must be with the amount of money they earn. She didn't even know what the job actually was, for christ's sake. Sansa stubbornly closed her eyes and laid as still as she possibly could until sleep blissfully claimed her.

 

Monday mornings were never Sansa's favourites. Really, what sane person liked Monday mornings? So as she stumbled zombie-like around her kitchen at 6.15am on Monday morning, searching for her trainers to go for her usual morning run, Sansa studiously ignored the butterfly feeling she had in her stomach. As she ran, each footstep making a satisfying thud as it hit the ground, she repeated over and over again in her head that it must be an upset stomach from all the takeout she had eaten over the weekend. That it certainly couldn't be excitement. There was nothing to be excited about, it was just a normal Monday morning. 

 

Sansa ran more quickly than usual, meaning she was home, showered and dressed more quickly than usual. Whilst Sansa dressed professionally and stylishly she always would chose extra time in bed over making a fuss over her appearance, and so with a quick dab of concealer under her eyes, mascara across her lashes and a gloss on her lips, Sansa was ready. Years of dealing with her hair had taught her to just let it do its own thing so all she done was brush it and let it hang in its natural loose waves down her back.

 

It was 6.55. Sansa was ready to leave for work a full ten minutes before she would usually be. Her feet jiggled impatiently as she sat at the kitchen table, her fingers tapping her phone against the table's oak surface. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, scrolling through her phone's contact list. 

 

HR. All she had to do was make a quick phone call. Call in sick, keep her options open. Her foot jiggled more incessantly.

 

It was 7am. Sansa was standing on Sandor Clegane's doorstep waiting for him to answer the door.

 


End file.
